The Shirt Monitor
by Inudaughter Returns
Summary: A story that happens late, around the time of "The Last Blow". Arnold is growing up, and when the school dress code policy gets strict, he finds himself facing a whole new adversity- that of tucked in shirts!


**This one takes place late, in the spring semester of the fifth grade. "The Last Blow" is about this time period. Sorry, I haven't done much just after "Crush!" yet but I will. This one might not be as funny as the others. It feels a bit serious to me.**

There are some really nice things about going to the downtown shopping district in Hillwood. A short busride away from Arnold's neighborhood, a dozen department stores all cloister together along the busy streets. During holidays, the sidewalks are blazoned with decorations but even during times in between these holidays there are plenty of windows to peer into. The stores themselves are like a maze filled to bursting with curiosities imported from afar.

The most important places for Arnold Shortman was the sporting goods store and the department store that sold his favorite red plaid shirts. Perhaps it was Grandpa's influence, but he had skipped right over the boy's clothing section and gone straight to the men's. At nine, even their size 'small' had hung like coattails on him when not tucked in but Arnold liked it that way. Arnold liked it a whole lot. After all, these days most the kids his age were wearing T-shirts and these were never tucked in- except Eugene's and his was forever tucked into his underpants!

Arnold liked men's shirts. They were better quality and just looked and felt more mature! But he didn't feel up to wearing them properly with a belt. That style was for teachers. Besides, what good is a shirt if one is always having to fix it in every time one goes to the bathroom? What good is tucking in a shirt if it just won't stay during a good, tough game of baseball? Why bother when if one sits on a shirt tucked in too tightly, the collar chokes just a hairsbreadth, but the experience is repulsive all the same? Why not embrace the freedom of youth? The reasoning was not absolute but Arnold's number one reason was. Having an untucked plaid shirt just felt cool!

Arnold hummed a few musical bars to himself as he held up a brand new red linen shirt with a price tag on it. Pretty soon, he'd have to upgrade his wardrobe a size if he wanted to keep the coattail effect. His legs had finally begun to grow just a little bit. He was in the early spring semester of fifth grade, now. He held the red linen shirt up in his hands for Gerald's inspection.

"What do you think?" Arnold asked Gerald. But the boy shrugged.

"I dunno," his friend said indifferently. "Looks just like all of your other shirts to me!"

"Exactly!" said Arnold. His smile widened into a grin. He knew his style and he liked it. Gerald meanwhile, was here for the opposite thing. There was a new pair of shoes he had his eye on.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Arnold inquired. Gerald now had a paper shopping bag in his hand, but it anyone's guess if Gerald had found the exact pair from the magazine advertisement. The inventory of stores tended to vary a lot.

"I sure did!" Gerald said, beaming. He opened up the bag and showed Arnold the scrawled and logoed, white sneakers within, of a fancy brand and make.

"Wow," Arnold uttered in spite of himself. Then he shook it off. He would not be swayed! Simply black shoes were all he needed. That and red plaid shirts. But to ensure he didn't look like a lumberjack and his shirt wasn't too easy to tear, he needed a green cotton sweatshirt, too. Arnold found one in the stacks.

"Well, I'm ready to go!" Arnold announced, proud of himself. As he turned his head he was startled by the sight of Helga G. Pataki popping up over one of the walls that divided the men's department from the sporting goods.

"Helga? What are you doing here?" Then narrowing his eyes, he remarked, "then again, what would you not be doing here? Did you follow me again?" he asked plainly. Helga shyly grinned before resuming her normal arrogance.

"I can go to the department store, too!" Helga complained out loud. "Besides, Arnoldo, I've found some rollerblades I like! I need to spend my half of the prize-money! Duh!" Helga waved one hand to the side as she rolled her eyes dramatically. She was referring to the dance competition they had won together.

"Oh, yeah!" said Arnold ruffling through his pocket. "Can you put them on layaway, Helga? I didn't bring much money with me. It's not like I have a checkbook or anything!" Helga came round the short wall that separated them.

"Nah, that's okay!" Helga muttered. "They'll still be on the shelves when I look for 'em. Besides, if I wait another couple of months for my birthday," said Helga thinking of her upcoming eleventh birthday, "maybe I can get Dad to spring for 'em. But I need to go play with all the sample bottles in the perfume isle."

"Phew!" said Gerald waving a hand in front of his nose. "It smells like you already have!" Helga's eyes drifted over towards the next display.

"Oh look, Arnoldo!" Helga said with good temper. She snatched a leather wallet down from the display case. "What are you still carrying all your change in your pocket for? Maybe you should buy yourself one of these!" Gerald took one of the leather wallets down from the display himself.

"A wallet!" Gerald said with deep respect. "Your first wallet! She's right man. You need one of these things. Only choose carefully. A man's first wallet is a sacred thing. It's like being half grown-up!"

"Well, technically, I'm a little more than half-grown up, if you mean eighteen!" Arnold complained. "I'm ten after all."

"Exactly man!" said Gerald as Arnold examined the wallets. He clasped Arnold's shoulder fondly. "So are you ready, for your next big step?"

"I dunno. Are you getting one?"

"Pffsht," Gerald scoffed pulling his own dark wallet from his pocket and waving it before Arnold's nose. "I got mine over a year ago! Come on now, don't be so indecisive. After all, sometimes things have gotta change! Just try not to forget yourself while you do it."

"Right," Arnold said, not really understanding just what Gerald was muttering about. But he found one of the paler brown ones, soft like deerskin.

"Well," said Arnold with great reluctance. "Maybe I'll get this!" Gerald clasped him round the shoulders again.

"Congratulations, man!" said Gerald. "After this, I suggest we get some Yahoos to celebrate! You are one step closer to being a real man!"

"I don't really follow," said Arnold. "I can get mugged with a wallet just as much as without, but yeah, I guess having one might be kind of cool!" He and Gerald did their friendship thumb shake.

"So are you coming, gal?" Gerald offered lightly, looking at Helga indirectly as she kept her own eyes planted firmly on the daydreaming Arnold. There was something going on between those two he wisely stayed out of.

"Yeah," Helga shrugged feigning indifference. But she had been very persistent in following Arnold of late. Ever since her sister Olga had left for California, she'd been rather bold about tagging along behind Arnold everywhere she could. But it didn't seem Arnold was minding.

"Alright," said Arnold. "But your drink is coming out of your half of the prize money!" Arnold lectured. But instead of a scowl, Helga's response was a brief smile. Yes, Gerald thought to himself. Things had definitely changed. A year ago, Gerald would have sworn that the stubborn girl would have never listened to anybody, or let anyone lecture her. But here she was, not arguing. It was definitely interesting.

"Gerald?" asked Arnold stopping suddenly. "Is something wrong? You've got this look on your face…"

"Huh? Oh, no, no, nothing's wrong!" Gerald answered his best friend quickly. His thoughts must have been showing up too plainly on his face.

Twenty minutes later, Arnold propped open the front door to the boarding house and paused a minute for a stream of cats, dogs, and a pet pig to stream out. Then he entered.  
It was almost dinner time already and the smell of tonight's "meatloaf" was reason enough to be glad he filled up on mall food earlier. Grandma didn't use ketchup like most people did. There was so much horseradish and mustard in every tiny bite the only real way to eat it was a topping for mashed potatoes.

Still, when Arnold was done putting his things away, he sat down at the dinner table with the boarders and waited for dinner with the rest of them. Arnold looked up when his Grandfather walked into the room, a magazine under his arm.

"Well, where were you, Shortman?" his Grandfather asked him- not angry, but curious. "It was getting late!"

"At the department store," was Arnold's mild answer. "I bought some shirts."

"What would you need to do that for?" prompted Phil. "You have a whole pile of shirts!" By manner of explanation, Arnold pulled his chair out from the table and sat back down on it. Arnold flexed down his toes an inch until his toes touched the floor from his chair with no air in between.

"Holey Maloney!" Grandpa Phil swore, clapping a hand to the side of his head. "I was beginning to think I'd never see the day!" The boarders around the table gasped.

"Arnold's legs! They are longer!" Mr. Hyuyn gawked at the sight. But Ernie wiped a tear from his eye.

"The little Shortman isn't so short anymore! Well, I always knew the day would come when you'd be taller than me, but I just wasn't ready for it! What shock! Well, congratulations, Arnold," said Ernie leaning over to give Arnold's hand a shake. The boy accepted it silently.

"Oh, my!" said Grandma Pookie clutching her serving tray to her heart. "I've got to bake a cake tonight to celebrate!" She hurried back towards the kitchen. The boarders are gathered around Arnold, chattering happily. Altogether, Arnold was feeling mighty good.

Unexpectedly, the following Monday was also an eventful day for Arnold. It had the appearance of being a normal, run-of-the-mill day in P.S.118. But it wasn't. Anita Strict, Board Member of the Board of Directors for the entire school district, was headed on her way to Mr. Principal Wartz's office for a visit. And on her way to the Principal's office, she clutched her narrow, angular frames to her face in horror five times.

"Ugh!" Anita Strict uttered out loud with disgust, for two boys got off the school bus and walked ahead of her. One had really baggy jeans and the other had really large flares. To the side of them was a girl wearing a skimpy yellow T-shirt that showed her belly button. Further down the hall, someone else was covered in leather and rivets. A fourth kid had clothes which were shredded in many places. But the fifth offense, it seemed to Anita, belonged to a short, blond-haired kid with unkempt locks of hair sticking up at odd angles and a long, untucked shirt. Anita Strict's eyes had fallen onto non-other than Arnold Shortman. With the boy taking no notice of her as he fished a textbook from his locker, Anita scratched out a few words into her notebook, then hurried on her way towards Principal Wartz's office. The round, tall, menacing woman wearing a business suit rapped on Principal Wartz's door. He opened it nervously.

"Yes?" Principal Wartz answered. "Oh, Mrs. Strict! It's you! Please do come in and sit down!" he said as humbly as possible before sitting down behind his desk himself. Principal Wartz's face beaded with sweat out of fear.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk to me about?" asked Principal Wartz, his hands folded.

"As a matter of fact there is! There definitely is!" said Mrs. Strict standing up to pace in front of their Principal. She slammed a piece of paper onto Mr, Wartz's desk.

"The Board of School Directors, including myself, have been getting complaints about 'bad fashion' from parents. So while we are reviewing the school's policies on the subject, I wanted to ask you, personally, if you have made observations on the matter. Is there anything you'd like to say about it?"

"Hm," said Mr. Wartz rubbing his chin in thought. "I have seen some pretty unusual things of late," said Principal Wartz thinking of a student who he had just seen galloping down the hallway wearing a unicorn costume. As he reflected, the costumed student passed by in the hall again, being chased by Campfire Lass and a collie that looked like Lassie. It seemed that classes other than Mr. Simmon's class also had problems. Moments later, a couple of girls ambled by his door, one with pink and the other with purple hair. Inside the office, Mrs. Strict looked down at her notes.

"Mr. Wartz!" she said with a loud voice that demands respect. Mr. Wartz's eyes bulged wide. "While the Board is reviewing school policy, I'd personally like to ask you to particularly enforce the current school rules on personal grooming. And a week from now, I hope for a new amendment for school policy. No untucked shirts! Why, when I was a child, no one would have ever stood such a thing! And we are going to have to do something about hair! If we do nothing, children will show to school with mohawks!" Mrs. Strict paced again, then whirled on Principal Wartz to stare.

"Are we clear, Mr. Wartz?!" she demanded.

"We're clear!" the school Principal squeaked.

Time passed. A week later from this fateful conversation, Arnold was at his locker again, mildly shuffling through it when he was startled by Mr. Wartz stopping behind him in the hallway. Arnold was even more perplexed when the school Principal handed him a hairbrush.

"Tuck that shirt in, son," Principal Wartz said, mildly for the old man. "And do something about that punk hair."

"Punk hair?" Arnold repeated the words, stunned. "But Mr. Wartz, my hair naturally stands up this way!" The school principal folded his arms.

"Not after today, it doesn't! We're having a school assembly after lunch. Things will be explained then, but suffice it to say, young man, times are changing! Keep the brush." With that Principal Wartz walked away. Arnold stared after him, worry building in his chest.

Arnold's worst fears were confirmed when, after lunch, he reported to the school auditorium. The teachers were handing out sheets of paper for the students to take home to be signed. Arnold rolled his eyes down the list and jolted. There it was in print. No untucked shirts. Feeling self-conscious, he took a seat near the back of the auditorium and found Helga hanging over his shoulder.

"So that explains the freakish occurrence my eyes witnessed this morning!" she croned. "You know, tidy really doesn't suit you!" Arnold narrowed his eyes and tried to ignore her.

"Ah, it's rough, buddy!" Gerald lamented for him, taking a seat next to Arnold. "You know, you aren't really you without your plaid sticking out! Although the plaid kind of emphasizes your short legs," said Gerald scratching his chin in thought.

"Gerald, what do I do about it?" Arnold fretted as Anita Strict came onto stage. She cleared her voice with a loud, "ahem."

"We are here today to discuss school dress code…" the woman droned on until she came to the most important part, "and to help the school transition to the new code, we have temporarily appointed a school dress code monitor!" Anita declared. "Myself! I will personally roam the halls to make sure that all students are in compliance to the new code!" Anita's eyes settled on Arnold and his bushy hair immediately, for they were sticking up again. Arnold felt the eyes boring down on him and tried to flatten his hair with his hand.

"For today only," said Anita Strict, "we are allowing you a grace period to come into compliance. But if you come groomed or dressed inappropriately tomorrow, beware!" Anita said with her gaze so pointed directly at Arnold that the boy grit his teeth and sunk low into his seat. This Anita Strict was dangerous indeed!

The terrible assembly adjourned. Arnold stood alongside Gerald in one the hall outside, his eyes big with worry.

"Gerald! What do I do?" the boy fussed again.

"Ah, don't worry about it!" said Gerald. "Just tuck in your shirt! And use some hair gel. No big deal!"

"Well, alright. I'll try," Arnold agreed with a heavy heart.

The next day, Arnold stood in front of mirror before going to school. The sight he saw before him horrified him. Without the red plaid sticking out, his blue shirt was blue one blue jeans for a look that was… well, way too blue. Arnold tried taking the outer shirt off, but that looked even worse. At the last, he just tried to keep the shirt tucked in like Gerald said. As for the hair, well he flattened it as much as he was able though he doubted it would stay.

Arnold rode the bus to school and entered the wide double doors at the entrance. He was alarmed when Anita Strict pulled him from the mess of milling students immediately. He held up his textbook in one hand and another hand in frustrated surrender.

"I tucked it in!" Arnold protested as the new dress code monitor wrote out a pink little slip with 'first warning' on it and handed it to Arnold. He checked round his back to see that indeed, half of his shirt had come untucked during the busride.

"Then I suggest you wear a belt tomorrow!" said the woman as Arnold scowled.

The next day, Arnold tried, once again, to comply. This time Arnold did make it past Anita Strict through the door. He made it to class, too. The only trouble was when Arnold and Gerald walked up to Phoebe and Helga in the hall. These days, it was common for them to eat lunch together. What wasn't common was for Arnold to wear a belt, and as he spotted Helga looking especially beautiful after a hard morning of arithmetic and history lessons, Arnold accidentally lifted the belt a bit to adjust it from side to side. Helga, whose mind and knowledge was more indecent than most girls, understood the gesture of interest immediately. After the shock wore off, she grinned.

"Rawr!" Helga lipped. "Something on your mind, Arnold?" Arnold blushed bright red immediately.

"No, ah, my stomach is hurting," he lied, sweating. "Must have been breakfast. I think I'll go to the nurse's office!"

"Man, you really do look sick!" said Gerald. "You're burning up!"

"Yeah, sure," Arnold agreed for good measure before he fled.

Needless to say, Arnold didn't wear the belt the day after. But he did try to keep the shirt tucked in. Religiously. Which is why he was extra annoyed when Anita Strict stopped him for his hair which he had mussed sometime during the busy day.

"Detention," Anita Strict chorused as Arnold ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up even further.

"Argh!" the boy said before stomping away.

Over the next two days, the hall monitor found his shirt untucked two more times and gave him two more detention slips. Never before ever had Arnold had to spend so much time in the bathroom reapplying mousse to his hair, and it was making him miserable. Eager to find a way out of his crisis, Arnold's eyes drifted across the room to Lorenzo.

"Uh, hey Lorenzo," Arnold said trying to be amicable.

"Hey. Um, say Arnold!" said Lorenzo in a very polite manner. "I don't want to seem arrogant wid'th you, but I've noticed that you seem to be being written up a lot!"

"Yeah, a whole lot," Arnold lamented holding up a stack of papers.

"Well, as a friend, I could help't'you!" Lorenzo said with his city lisp. "If we meet after school, I can give you some pointers. You know, so you don't get written up so much."

"Um, pointers? Like what?"

"Well, for starters, you might try to go to a tailor," said Lorenzo. But Arnold narrowed his eyes.

"No! No way! I am not chopping my shirts! I'd rather go to wearing T-shirts first! That's like sacrilege," Arnold said. With sorrow, he reached down and held up one of the shirt ends that had come free again and regarded it as if they were speaking a fond friend. Lorenzo coughed lightly into his hand to cover up for the eyes he was about to roll.

"Well, how about this, Arnold? We'll go in my limousine after school to the mall and we'll try to find you a new look. Would you like that?"

"Well," said Arnold with grave reluctance. "Alright. I'll meet you."

"Great!" said Lorenzo with a smile and a nod.

After school, Arnold was surprised to be getting help from Lorenzo of all people. The trouble he was going through was almost worth it because the ride inside Lorenzo's limousine was sweet. It was a car still, more or less, but with space and comfort and Yahoo sodas and snacks, it was almost like chilling out at his room instead of being in downtown traffic. At the end of the short ride, Lorenzo's limo driver bowed them out at the entrance to a shopping mall.

"Well, ready to go in?" asked Lorenzo.

"Sure," was Arnold's reply although the last thing he wanted was a new wardrobe.

They filed inside to the boy's clothing department, where unexpectedly they met Susie, one of the boarders.

"Hello, Arnold!" Susie said happily. "What a surprise to see you!"

"I didn't know you work in this department," Arnold commented.

"Well, I don't," said Susie, "but one of the other girls was sick so I'm covering her shift for her! May I help you with something?"

"Well, my friend, here," said Lorenzo with his arm around Arnold's shoulder to make sure the cringing boy did not back out. "Would like to try on some new outfits. For his wardrobe. Don't worry, Arnold!" promised Lorenzo. "I'll help you pick something out!"

"Well, sure," said Susie lifting shirt down off a shelf. "Not a problem! We've got plenty of boy's clothing to choose from!"

Fifteen minutes later, Arnold exited the boy's dressing room wearing a vest top and shorts just like Lorenzo's. He also wore a tremendous scowl on his face.

"No," Arnold said simply before returning to the dressing room. When he came out again, he was wearing a blue jersey top, a t-shirt, and shorts.

"No way!" Arnold lamented. "Now I look like Harold!" So they tried again. Arnold put on a sleeveless gray vest and a white t-shirt top.

"Stoop kid!" was Arnold's angry comment before the mirror. He disappeared into the dressing room again.

"Uh, Sid?" he snarled when offered a leather jacket.

When Arnold next came out of the dressing room, he was wearing a sports jersey top instead. It was white and red instead of red and white, but the similarity was obvious.

"Uh, Gerald!" Arnold fussed. He walked back into the dressing room, tugged the shirt up over his head, threw it out out the dressing room back at Susie, then walked back out while buttoning up his own, usual, comfortable shirt.

"Thanks for trying, Lorenzo. Susie," Arnold said in an effort to be polite. "I just don't think there's anything here for me."

"Well, we could try to find you another color of the sweatshirt you're wearing on the outside," said Susie. "Would you like that?" Arnold unhappily accepted a red version of his favorite green.

"I guess it's.. Not so bad," he mumbled. With the red sweatshirt on, he was simply red with blue jeans.

"Well, thanks for trying to help me out, Lorenzo," said Arnold when the rich kid dropped him off at the stoop to his boarding house.

"You are welcome, my friend!" Lorenzo said with a wave from his limousine's window before the sleek, black cab pulled away. Arnold shuffled inside. Upstairs, he flopped on his couch and dialed up Gerald.

"Hey, Gerald," Arnold lamented with the new sweatshirt draped on his head like a washcloth. He sighed.

"How're you doing man?" Gerald answered. "What's up man? You sound depressed!"

"Well, I guess I kinda am. These new school rules are the worst."

"Tell me about it! Half the school is complaining. Maybe they'll relax a little bit."

"Maybe," said Arnold before after a few words about the weather and sports, he hung up the phone. He dialed up Helga next. The phone at her parents home rang without being picked up.

"Hm," Arnold said before dialing Helga's cellphone number instead. He lay down his phone and walked forward. He peered out his window to the alley below his fire escape to see just what he expected to. Helga whipping out her cellphone.

"Helga! I know you're down there!" Arnold called out. "Why don't you come up to my roof instead? We'll talk."

"I...err.. How do you do that Football-Head?!" Helga gaped before closing her cell phone back up with a guilty snap.

"I dunno. Training? Even I can catch on eventually, you know," said the boy as Helga climbed up the fire escape. With neither frown nor smile, the two stared at one another through the window.

"Give me a minute!" Arnold said. He walked over to his phone hung it up on its cradle to silence its noisy dialtone. Then he opened his window and crawled out. Then, with one hand extended, he helped Helga up the final rungs to his rooftop. Wild birds perched on the chimney of the rooftop flew away in a whirr of wings and Helga and Arnold watched them go in silence. Finally, they spoke.

"So, having a tough time?" asked Helga with certainty. Her head jaunted to one side as she smiled.

"Yup," said Arnold. "It just isn't fair. This dress code thing."

"Well, life isn't always fair," said Helga. "I guess you're not ready for the sweater thing, huh?"

"No!" gagged Arnold. "Not until I'm like, forty!" he said his eye giving a twitch.

"Well, don't worry too much about it, Arnoldo!" advised Helga. "You'll get used to things. You'll bounce back. You always do!"

"I do?" Arnold questioned, his hands balled at his sides as he gave he a quizzical look.

"Yes, you sure do!" explained Helga. "You know, that's one of the things I always admired most. You know, back when I was your bully there was one thing that always astounded me. Something that separated you from the rest."

"And what was that?"

"That you stood up. No matter how many times I pushed you back on your butt just to show you who was boss, you got back up on your feet again. At first it drove me crazy. But then I realized, it wasn't because you were angry or that you were challenging me. You did it because, well, you had faith in yourself. No matter how much anyone tried to put you down, you had morals that made you try not to pick fights, but you wouldn't let anyone make you feel inferior either! And then I realized suddenly, what a beautiful thing that was."

"It is?" Arnold asked, unable to follow Helga's threading explanation. But he watched as she lifted a hand up towards to the cityscape that surrounded them.

"Look out there, Arnold," said Helga pointing towards the skyscrapers. "What do you see?"

"Um, Hillwood, I guess."

"Well, I see people! Lots of them! And does the city make the people or does the people make the city, Arnold?" said Helga pacing.

"Uh, both maybe?" asked Arnold still completely confused. But Helga beamed at his answer.

"Exactly!" she smiled before falling into a grim frown. "You see, Arnold, our neighborhood is full of desperate characters. People who make excuses for themselves. People who decide to just do what they want. People who are just plain angry and lash out about it. And there a lot of people who are just too plain tired to try. It's a harsh city. It's a harsh life! But sometimes there are people who don't let the city rule them. They build the city instead. I saw it in your eyes, Arnold. You won't become the kind of man who can't keep a job down for his life. You won't run around living a life of crime and you won't be the kind of man who'd just walk out on your family when things get rough. You won't let the city break you. Instead, you're one of those creative types. You'll build, and someday you'll leave a real mark on this town and I don't mean graffiti! No, the city will be yours because you're one of the ones who worked to make the world better. Trust me, Arnold. What I saw in your eyes when I pushed you down, and saw when you got back up again, was that you were going to grow up right! You'll own up to the problems that face you. And I also learned that you have the most beautiful green eyes." Arnold coughed.

"Why, thank Helga," Arnold shifted away for things had gotten a little hot between them. As Helga looked about to snatch him up, he scooted two steps back.

"But I'm not ready to be grown up yet! I'd rather dress and act like a kid for a little while longer."

"Feel the sunshine while you can!" said Helga with a small smile. She looped her hand around the rung of the ladder and prepared to slide down.

"Well, thanks for being a friend," Arnold stated neutrally as the girl paused at the top of the ladder.

"No problem," Helga smiled softly before she slipped away down the ladder and off into the maze of streets of Hillwood again. Arnold watched her go, a contemplative look on his face.

The next day, Arnold Shortman stood in front of the mirror in his room again. He wore the red sweatshirt and black jeans. But then, narrowing his eyes with determination, he tugged the sweatshirt off again and swapped back to his normal clothes, not even bothering to tuck the tails in. He ran a hand through his hair and fuzzed it so that it stood up straight on end. Then, marching, he headed towards the bus for school.

With a grim look, Arnold stepped down off the bus. He marched straight into the doorway and instead of trying to sneak past Anita Strict in the hall, he marched right in front of her and stared at her, eye to eye.

"Detention, right?" said Arnold, a school book tucked under one arm and his hand at his waist on the other. Anita Strict frowned.

"No, as much as I would like to, the parents of students have been complaining that the new school dress code is… too strict. It is being reviewed again. You are free to go!" said Anita Strict walking out the door to P.S. 118 and off into the distance. Arnold watched his reprieve in shocked silence. Then, with a small smile at the corner of his mouth, he strolled up to Gerald who was hanging out with Phoebe and Helga at their lockers.

"I guess I got pretty lucky today," said Arnold. Gerald caught on immediately.

"Did you hear?"

"I heard," answered the boy. "Great timing, huh? I was being reckless. But then again, with this many detention slips, I pretty much will be living here anyway!" Arnold held up the booklet of pink detention slips he had gathered over the past week.

"Nah, detention is max capacity!" said Gerald waving a hand. "The teachers are letting almost everyone off! If you ask nicely, I'll bet you can get out of those! It's your lucky day!"

"Not so fast!" said Helga reaching into her locker and pulling out a pad of pink sticky notes and a pen. "I'm declaring myself the NEW fashion monitor and I'M going to have to write you up!" Helga joked thrusting a pink sticky note with a smiley face into Arnold's hand. She jabbed a finger in his direction.

"Arnold Shortman!" she said impersonating Arnita Strict. "Untuck that shirt!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" said Arnold with a smile. Phoebe and Gerald laughed.


End file.
